FIVE

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M'chel Riss was never that happy in any situation without an escape hatch, and that exactly fit the Imperial Victory. She never believed that any civilian ship as big as the Victory could conceivably have enough lifecraft, nor would they be within her reach in the event of a catastrophe.

So she always tried to make friends with the crew, in the vague thought that if disaster struck, she'd at least have somebody to talk to before the smashup.

Riss buttonholed one of the ship's officers and asked her what the hell was going on.

The woman leaned close, and said that they'd had a com—she didn't know from where or from whom—that there was a bomb aboard.

Since the woman looked rattled, M'chel put on a calm face, and said,

"Probably just a hoax from some sick fool."

The officer looked slightly calmer as she bustled away.

M'chel wondered how many times she'd given some placid reassurance in her career shortly before the doors blew off. She set that thought aside and made for the other Star Risk operatives to give them the word.

Then she planned on a long, satisfying meal on her fingernails.

But no bangs banged, and the Victory popped out of hyperspace and made for the Alliance world of Cygnes IV.

Babbling comfort, it set down at a remote spaceport. Military and police swarmed aboard, and the passengers were shuttled to IV's capital. Every hotel and pension was filled to the brim while the Victory was toothcombed for explosives and such.

Von Baldur contacted St. Searles and told them why they were delayed, gave Rosewater-Jones's representative on Porcellis the same message, and found an exclusive girls' school to put his charges in for the estimated week that the Victory would be dry-docked for the search.

On the third day after their arrival, a pair of patrol craft—or so the media reported—made a quote daring raid end quote on the drydock, and scattered incendiaries along the length of the ship's hull.

The Victory burned merrily, and every emergency team on the planet swarmed the shipyard, worried that the ship's power plant would go up.

Von Baldur had other worries.

"The question I have," he told the other Star Risk people, "is whether or not I should allow myself to be paranoid and think this whole mess has anything to do with us.

"First a bomb scare—that is what I am calling it, since the last report said that no explosives had been found aboard the Victory, and no further communiqués had been received from the bombers. Then a successful firebombing while the ship lies helpless.

"So the first question to worry about is this: What do our charming innocents have control of or access to that can justify the total destruction of a multibillion-credit ship?"

"That's one good worry," Riss agreed. "A second, incidental, one might be what the girls are now up to."

"Uh-oh," von Baldur said.

M'chel gestured for Grok to explain.

"I was making a routine check of the rooms our clients are occupying, just to ensure there was no mischief at hand," the alien said, "and I found a nice, compact little laboratory in Lis's closet."

"Making what?" Jasmine asked.

"That took a bit of analysis," Grok said. "It turned out to be a substance from Earth's dark ages. Something called lysergic acid diethylmide, a derivative from the fungoid known as ergot.

"It basically instills in the taker a psychotic state, resembling what humans knew as schizophrenia.

"It was very popular at one time, taken recreationally before listening to rather primitively structured music."

"People got messed up on it for fun?" Jasmine asked.

"They did," Grok said. "Which is why Lis was making it—for sale to the older students. It was becoming the newest fad when I intervened."

"Oh, brother," Goodnight said. "So next we'll be accused of turning a bunch of children into drug addicts."

"Possibly," Grok agreed. "But if so, that eventuality has already occurred, and is not worth concerning ourselves with.

"I confiscated the chemical gear and destroyed the portion Lis had already formulated."

Grok was silent for a moment.

"Except, I shall confess, for a single dose that I calculated to be correct for my body mass."

"You took this swill?" M'chel asked, incredulous.

"I did," Grok said. "And found it a quite pleasant experience. It provided great insights into various metaphysical matters that I have been pondering.

Besides Earth's grappa, it was one of the most enjoyable substances I've ever ingested."

" Wonderful," Riss said sarcastically. "Not only do we have a murderous alien as a partner, but one that's now an addict as well."

"This has nothing to do with my theory that all this may be aimed at us,"

von Baldur said, a trifle impatiently.

"Not enough hard data to operate from," Jasmine said. "At present, no more than an interesting conjecture at best."

"I did not think it worthy of more than mention," Friedrich said. "So I suppose we just sit here until Cunard sends a replacement for the Victory."

"Hopefully," Riss said, "we'll be allowed to do just that."

They weren't.

It was quite a professional kidnap attempt.

They came in just before dawn, evidently planning to take off with their prey and bury themselves in morning commuter traffic on the nearby throughway.

There were four lifters. Two were medium capacity, two were heavy-duty. One heavy-duty antigravity lifter orbited the school, the other three made straight-in approaches and slammed in on the school's flat roof.

Fourteen men and women armed with gas guns and blasters, wearing dark body armor, dashed out. Eight of them carried what could only be called kidnap kits—restraints, gags, blindfolds, sedatives.

The roof appeared free of any security precautions.

There'd been none when Star Risk arrived.

All there'd been time enough for was for Grok to jerry-rig a proximity braking unit from one of their own rental lifters to use as a warning radar, which yammered out a warning instead of hitting the braking unit.

The raiders blew the door to the roof open, and then were stopped. The stairwell had been thoroughly blocked with old desks and furniture.

They milled about indecisively for a moment, giving Star Risk time to yank on clothes and combat harnesses.

Jasmine thought, later, that it was as if their plan had gone only so far, and now they were improvising.

The attackers grabbed furniture and threw it out of the stairwell, clearing the way.

By that time, Grok had smashed a window in his room two floors below, and was eeling up the side of the building, using the ever so ornate and sturdy red ivy as a climbing rope, Riss and Goodnight after him.

The stairwell came clear, and the first pair of raiders started down it.

Jasmine King and Friedrich von Baldur were waiting, and blasters thundered, the bolts ricocheting up the passageway into soft targets.

The raiders flinched back, straight into fire from the three who'd reached the roof.

They might have been well prepared up to a point, but they weren't ready for a combat assault.

Rounds from their blasters were going high, wide, and handsome.

Riss and Goodnight pulled themselves onto the rooftop, and were in prone firing positions. Grok held on to the ivy with one enormous paw and started shooting promiscuously into the raiders' midst.

Someone shouted, "Extract!" and three or four of the raiders ran for the largest, rearmost lifter.

The engines had been left running on the lifters, and the pilots were gunning their engines, eager to pull out.

The rear lifter, not full, came off the ground just as two more raiders grabbed for the still-open ports.

The pilot of that lifter pushed at them, trying to get them to let go while he tried to clear the lifter in front of him.

Distracted, he didn't use enough power, and the bigger lifter tore into the top of the small one in front.

The pilot lost control, and the heavy lifter cartwheeled and spun.

Grok carefully put half a magazine of bolts into the control compartment of that lifter, and it twisted down, crashing and exploding in the school grounds.

The lifter it had smashed into also tried to get away, and Riss sprayed a burst into the engine compartment.

Its engine died, and it crashed back down on the rooftop, rolling onto its side.

Riss killed the pilot as he tried to jump out, then ran to the lead lifter and chattered the rest of her magazine around its interior.

She crouched against it for cover as the few remaining raiders ran from Goodnight's deadly blaster fire toward her.

One of them might have been lifting his arms to surrender, but was a little too slow and died with his fellows.

The rooftop was smoke hung, and Riss heard, over the ringing in her ears, the screams of the students in the floors below.

Goodnight put a bolt into one raider who was still moving and trotted to Riss.

The fourth watchdog lifter recognized the predicament he was in, broke out of his orbit, and put on full power away from the school.

Riss braced, took careful aim, and realized her blaster was dry.

She changed magazines and retook her stance as the sole surviving lifter went low, just above the trees, and was gone.

"You all right?" Goodnight said.

She nodded.

Chas looked around and saw that Grok was uninjured, as Jasmine and Friedrich burst onto the rooftop.

He considered the bodies and the girls now cautiously peering up from windows, the wisping smoke, the blaster holes everywhere.

"Well, enough of this shit," he snarled.